Page 51 of How to Prevent a Fumble

Firstly, I’m living with one of America’s sweethearts. A heartthrob, so to speak. Someone people love enough that cameras everywhere watch his every word. If he wasn’t so loved, we wouldn’t be in this position right now.

Secondly, I now have to be in a fake relationship with him. Which likely means he has to touch me. In public. Around people.

I don’t even remember the last time I was actually touched by a man. If I’m honest, I think it was a couple nights after my divorce, and I definitely don’t remember what that man even looked like.

The simple fact is that no matter how strong I think I am, proximity cultivates feelings. And I will not allow any type offeelings, no matter what they are, for Leo Warner within ten feet of me.

So no, he will absolutely not be doing incredibly hot things I’ve absolutely fantasized my celebrity crushes doing to me in my dreams.

Leo Warner will not be buckling me in. Not today, not ever.

His hands go up in surrender. “Okay! I’m sorry, was just trying to help.”

“Hands to yourself, buddy,” I mumble as I give the seatbelt one last tug, finally getting it to come free.

Finally buckled, Leo puts the car in reverse, and we’re off to his apartment.

18

LEO

Briar Crosby thinks I’m hot.

I may have been called a Himbo a couple times in the press—something I thought was positive until I looked up what it actually meant—but I’m not completely braindead.

I know women.

And I know Briar thinks I’m sexy.

But if there’s one thing Briar is, it’s grouchy. And she has one thing I tend to hate.Professional integrity.

Disgusting.

“Do you want Italian ice?” I ask her quickly, realizing we’re about to pass a Rita’s.

I watch from my peripheral as she studies my face, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

“Because I want it. I was just asking if you wanted it too.”

She purses her lips. “Can I get some for Elara? I’ll just put it in the freezer until she’s home.”

“Yeah. I was going to get everything to go.”

“Sounds good to me,” she says simply, folding her arms over her chest.

I sigh, using every ounce of my brainpower to keep myeyes out the window and not on the way her dress rides up her thighs, her pale skin golden in the sunlight streaming through my tinted windows.

Pulling into the parking lot, I press the button to open her door before heading to the small window to place my order.

Everyone around us gasps, heads swiveling left and right as kids whisper and point.

People around here are really great at letting the team live their lives, but there’s sometimes where we just have to try to blend in.

Or try to hide. Owen ordered a pack of a hundred fake mustaches before growing his own mustache out a couple months ago because of some stupid movie about planes. Thefake mustache hasn’t worked as well ever since.

Once my order is placed, I step aside and let Briar order. A gelati for her and a small custard for Elara.

The order comes out quickly, and we’re back in the car in no time, our desserts on Briar’s lap.

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